The Californians

  VI

  Magdalena had failed at every point. She had expected to fail, but shefelt miserable and discouraged, nevertheless. After dinner she went upto her room and prayed to the Virgin. In time she felt comforted, hertears ceased, and she sat thinking for some time at the foot of herlittle altar. With the sad philosophy of her nature she put theimpossible from her, and considered the future. It had been arrangedlong ago that she and Helena, Ila and Tiny, were to come out at the sametime; the great function which should introduce to San Francisco threeof its most beautiful girls, and its most favoured by lineage andfortune, was to be given by Mrs. Yorba. The other girls would come out ayear earlier or later. Ila and Tiny were already in Europe. She hadthree uninterrupted years before her. In those years she could do much.When she was not studying, she would read the best authors and learntheir secret. Her father had no library, but Colonel Belmont had, andshe was a life member of the Mercantile Library; the membership had beenpresented to her two birthdays ago by her luncheon guests, who respectedwhat they would not emulate. She pressed her face into her hands,striving to arrange the nebulous thoughts and ambitions which burned inher brain.

  There was a wild ringing of bells. She raised her head and saw a redglare, then rose and walked over to the window. She thought a fire verybeautiful; and as there were many in that city of wood and wind, she hadhad full opportunity to observe their manifold phases. Her bedroomadjoined the schoolroom, but was on the corner of the house at the back,and overlooked not only the business part of the city between the footof the hill and the bay, but the region known as "South of MarketStreet." This large valley had its aristocratic quarter, but it was nowlargely given over to warehouses, depots, and streets of the poor. Amonth seldom passed without a big blaze in this closely builtcombustible section. To-night there was a long narrow ribbon of flametwisting in the wind, which in a few moments would leap from block toblock, licking up the flimsy dwellings as a cat licks up milk. Above theribbon flew a million sparks, turning the stars from gold to white.Every moment the wind twisted the ribbon into wonderful fantasticshapes, which beset Magdalena's brain for words as beautiful.

  She listened intently. Some one was climbing a pillar of the balcony. Itwas Helena, of course: she often chose that laborious method of enteringa house whose doors were always open to her. Magdalena opened the backwindow and stepped out onto the balcony.

  "Is that you, Helena?" she whispered.

  "Is it? Just you wait till you see me!"

  A moment later she had clambered over the railing and stood before theastonished Magdalena.

  "What--what--"

  "Boys' clothes. Can't you see for yourself? I'm going to the fire, andyou're going with me."

  "Of course I shall not. What possessed you--"

  But the astute Helena detected a lack of decision in her friend's voice."You're just dying to go," she said coaxingly. "You adore fires, andyou'd love to see one close to. Put a waterproof on and a black shawlover your head. Then if anybody notices you, they'll think you're a_muchacha_ from Spanish town. As I am a boy, I can protect youbeautifully. We'll go to the livery stable and I'll make old Duff giveme a hack. I've a pocket full of boodle; papa gave me my allowanceto-day. Here, come in." She dragged the unresisting Magdalena into theroom, arrayed her in a waterproof, and pinned a black shawl tightlyabout the small brown face. "There!" she said triumphantly, "you looklike a poor little greaser, for all the world. Don Roberto would have afit. Do you think you can slide down the pillar?"

  "I don't know--yes, I am sure I can if you can." Her Spanish dignity wasaghast, but her newborn creative instinct stung her spirit into a suddenoverpowering desire for dramatic incident. "Yes, I'll go," shewhispered, closer to excitement than Helena had ever, save once, seenher. "I'll go."

  "Of course! I knew you would. I always knew you were a brick; come!Quick! I'll go first." She slid down the pillar, which she could easilyclasp with her long arms and legs; and Magdalena, after a gasp,followed, shivering with terror, but too proud to utter a sound. Beforeshe had reached the bottom she had lost all interest in the fire; she nolonger wanted to write poetry; she wished frantically to be back in thesecurity of her room. But she reached the ground safely; and althoughshe fell in a heap, she quickly pulled herself together and stood up,holding her head higher than ever. And when she was on the sidewalk, indisguise, unattended for the first time in her life, her very nervessang with exultation, and she was filled with a wild longing for a nightreplete with adventure.

  "'Lena!" whispered Helena, ecstatically. "Isn't this gorgeous?"

  Magdalena nodded. Her brain and heart were throbbing too loud forspeech.

  "I'm going to fires for the rest of my life," announced Helena, as theyturned the corner and walked swiftly down the hill. She was not of theorder which is content with one experience, even while that initialexperience is yet a matter of delightful anticipation.

  When they reached the livery stable, Helena marched in, holdingMagdalena firmly by the hand. "I want a hack," she said peremptorily tothe man in charge. "And double quick, too." The man stared, but Helenarattled the gold in her pocket, and he called to two men to hitch up.

  "Upon my soul," he whispered to his associates, "it's those kids of JackBelmont's and old Yorba's, or I'm a dead man. But it ain't none of mybusiness, and I ain't one to peach. I like spirit."

  "We're going to the fire, and I wish the hack to wait for us," saidHelena, as he signified that all was ready. "I'll pay you now. How muchis it?"

  "Ten dollars," he replied unblushingly.

  Helena paid the money like a blood, Magdalena horrified at theextravagance. Her own allowance was five dollars a month. "Can youreally afford this, Helena?" she asked remonstrantly, as the hack sliddown the steep hill.

  "I got fifty dollars out of Jack to-night. He's feeling awfully softover my going away. Poor old Jack, he'll feel so lonesome without me.But we'll have a gay old time travelling together in Europe when I'mthrough."

  Magdalena did not speak of her conversation with her own parent. She didnot want to think of it. This night was to be one of uniform joy. Theywere a quarter of an hour reaching the fire. As they turned into thegreat central artery of the city, Market Street, they leaned forward andgazed eagerly at the dense highly coloured mass of men and women, mostlyyoung, who promenaded the north sidewalk under a blaze of gas.

  "What queer-looking girls!" said Magdalena. "Why do they wear so manyfrizzes, and sailor hats on one side?"

  "They're chippies," said Helena, wisely.

  "What's chippies?"

  "Girls that live south of Market Street. They work all day and promenadewith their beaux all evening. As I live, 'Lena, we're going down FourthStreet. We'll go right through Chippytown."

  They had been south of Market Street before, for Ila and Tiny lived onthe aristocratic Rincon Hill; but their way had always lain down SecondStreet, which was old, but stately and respectable. Fourth Street, likeMarket Street by night, would be a new country; but after a few moments'eager attention Helena sniffed with disappointment. The narrow streetand those branching from it were ill-lighted and deserted; there wasnothing to be seen but low-browed shops. But there was always the redglare beyond; and in a few moments the holocaust burst upon them in allits terrible magnificence.

  They sprang out of the hack and walked rapidly to the edge of the crowd,which filled the street in spite of the warning cries of the firemen andthe angry shouts of the policemen. The fire was devouring four largesquares and sending leaping branches to isolated dwellings beyond. Agreat furniture factory and innumerable tenements were vanishing likeicicles under a hot sun.

  The girls, careless of the severe jostling they received, stared infascinated amazement at the red tongues darting among the blackenedshells, the crashing roofs, the black masses of smoke above, cut withnarrow swords of flame, the solid pillar of fire above the factory, thefutile streams of water, the gallant efforts of the firemen. Magdalena,hardly knowing why, reflected with deep satisfaction that a f
ire waseven more wonderful at close quarters than when viewed from a distance.Every detail delighted her; but when a clumsy boy stepped on her toes,she drew Helena into a sand lot opposite, where it was less crowded. Itwas then that she noticed for the first time the weeping women gatheredabout their household goods. She stared at them for a moment, then shookthe rapt Helena by the arm.

  "Look!" she whispered. "What is the matter with those people?"

  "What?" asked Helena, absently. "Oh, don't I wish I were on that housewith a hose in my hand! What a lovely exciting life a fireman's mustbe!" Then, yielding to Magdalena's insistence, she turned and directedher gaze to the people in the lot behind her. "Oh, the poor things!" shesaid, forgetting the fire. "They've been burnt out. Let's talk to them."

  The two girls approached the unfortunate creatures, who were wailingloudly, as if at a wake.

  "Poor devils!" exclaimed Helena. "I am so glad I have some silver withme."

  "And I have nothing to give them," thought Magdalena, bitterly; but shewas too proud to speak. She stared at them, her brain a medley of newsensations, as Helena went about, questioning, fascinating,sympathising, giving. It was the first time she had seen poverty; shehad barely heard of its existence; it had never occurred to her thatgreat romanticists condescended to borrow from life. It was not abjectpoverty that she witnessed, by any means. There were no hollow cheekshere, no pallid faces, no shrunken limbs. It was, save for the passingdistress, to which they were not unaccustomed, a very jolly, hearty,contented poverty. Their belongings were certainly mean, but solid andsufficient. Nevertheless, to Magdalena, who had been surrounded byluxury from her birth, and had rarely been in a street of lessimportance than her own, these commonly clad creatures, weeping overtheir cheap household goods, seemed the very dregs of the earth. Herkeen enjoyment fled. She was sure she could never be happy again with somuch misery in the world. If her father would only--she recalled hiscontempt for charities, the prohibition he had laid on her mother. Shedetermined to pray all night to the Virgin to soften his heart. When theVirgin had been allowed a reasonable time, she would beg him to give hera monthly allowance to devote to the poor. The Virgin had failed hermany times, but must surely hearken to so worthy a petition as this. Shestood apart. No one noticed her. She had nothing to give. They wereshowering blessings upon Helena, who was walking about with a cockylittle stride, well pleased with herself.

  Suddenly Helena wheeled and ran over to Magdalena.

  "I've given away my last red," she said. "It's lucky I paid for thathack in advance. Let's get out. Those I haven't given any to will bedown on me in a minute. Besides, it's getting late. A-ou-u!"

  A policeman had tapped her roughly on the shoulder. She gazed at him inspeechless terror for a half-moment, then gasped, "W-h-a-t do you want?"

  "I want you two young uns for the lock-up," he said curtly. Thestruggling crowd had lashed his pugnacity and ensanguined his temper. Asan additional indignity, the saloon had been burned, and he had not hada drink for an hour. "I'll run you in for wearing boys' clothes; haveyou ever heard the penalty for that, miss? And I'll run in this littlegreaser as a vagrant."

  Helena burst into shrieks of terror, clinging to Magdalena, whocomforted her mechanically, too terrified, herself, to speak. Even inthat awful moment it was her father she feared, not the law.

  "Shut up!" exclaimed the officer. "None of that." He paused abruptly andregarded Helena closely. She was searching wildly in her pockets. "Oh,if you've got a fiver," he said easily, "I'll call it square."

  "I haven't so much as a five-cent piece," sobbed Helena, with a freshburst of tears. "Oh, 'Lena, what shall we do?"

  "You'll come with me! that's what you'll do." He took them firmly by thehand and dragged them through the crowd, a section of which hadtransferred its attentions to the victims of the officer's wrath. Butthe three were soon hurrying up a dark cross-street toward a car; and asthey went Helena recovered herself, and began to cast about among herplentiful resource. She dared not risk telling this man their names, andbid him take them home in hope of reward, for he would certainly demandthat reward of their scandalised parents. No, she decided, she wouldconfide in the dignitary in charge at the station; and as soon as heknew who she was, he would be sure to let them go at once.

  They went up town on a street-car. Helena had never been in one before,and the experience interested her; but Magdalena sat dumb and wretched.She had been a docile child, and her father's anger had never beenvisited upon her; but she had seen his frightful outbursts at theservants, and once he had horsewhipped a Mexican in his employ until thelad's shrieks had made Magdalena put her fingers in her ears. He wouldnot whip her, of course; but what would he do? And this horrid man, whowas of the class of her father's coachman, had called her a "greaser."She had all the pride of her race. The insult stifled her. She feltsmirched and degraded.

  Nor was this all: she had had her first signal experience of the pallthat lines the golden cloud.

  The officer motioned to the conductor to stop in front of a squatbuilding in front of the Old Plaza. The man, whose gall had been slowlyrising for want of drink, hurried them roughly off the car and acrossthe sidewalk into a dark passage. Their feet lagged, and he shoved thembefore him, flourishing his bludgeon.

  "Git on! Git on!" he said. "There's no gittin' out of this until you'veserved your time."

  The words and the dark passage made Helena shiver. What if they wouldnot give her a chance to speak, but should lock her up at once? She knewnothing of these dark doings of night. Perhaps the policeman would takethem directly to a cell. In that case, she must confide in him.

  They entered a room, and her confidence returned. A man sat at a desk,an open ledger before him. He was talking to several tramps who stood invarious uneasy attitudes in front of the desk. His face was tired, buthis eyes had a humourous twinkle. He did not glance at the new-comers.

  "Sit down," commanded the policeman, "and wait your turn."

  The girls sat down uncomfortably on the edge of a bench. In a momentthey noticed a young man sitting near the desk and writing on a smallpad of paper. He looked up, looked again, regarding them intently, thenrose and approached the policeman.

  "Hello, Tim," he said. "What have you got here? A girl in boys'clothes?"

  "That's about the size of it."

  Helena pulled her cap over her eyes and reddened to her hair. For thefirst time she fully realised her position. She was Colonel JackBelmont's daughter, and she was waiting in the city prison as a commonvagrant. Magdalena bent her head, pulling the shawl more closely abouther face.

  The young man looked them over sharply. "They are the kids ofsomebodies," he said audibly. "Look at their hands. There's a 'story'here."

  Helena turned cold and set her teeth. She had no idea who the young manmight be, but instinct told her that he threatened exposure.

  A few moments later the tramps had gone, and the man at the desk askedthe policeman what charge he preferred against his arrests.

  "This one's a girl in boys' clothes, sir, and both, I take it, arevagrants. The House of Correction is the place for 'em, I'm thinkin'."

  Magdalena's head sank still lower, and she dug her nails into her palmsto keep from gasping. But Helena, in this crucial moment, was game. Shewalked boldly forward and said authoritatively,--

  "I wish to speak alone with you."

  The sergeant recognised the great I AM of the American maiden; he alsorecognised her social altitude. But he said, with what severity he couldmuster,--

  "If you have anything private to say, you can whisper it."

  Helena stepped behind the desk and put her lips close to his ear. "I amColonel Jack Belmont's daughter," she whispered. "Send me home, quick,and he'll make it all right with you to-morrow."

  "A chip of the old block," muttered the sergeant, with a smile. "I see.And who is your companion?"

  Helena hesitated. "Do--do I need to tell you?" she asked.

  "You must," firmly.

  "She's--you'l
l never breathe it?"

  "You must leave that to my discretion. I shall do what is best."

  "She is the daughter of Don Roberto Yorba."

  "O Lord! _O_ Lord!" He threw back his head and gave a prolonged chuckle.

  The young man edged up to the desk.

  "Who is that man?" demanded Helena, haughtily. She felt quite mistressof the situation.

  "He's a reporter."

  "What's that?"

  "Why, a reporter for the newspapers."

  "I know nothing of the newspapers," said Helena, with an annihilatingglance at the reporter. "My father does not permit me to read them."

  The sergeant sprang to his feet. "This _is_ no place for you," hemuttered. "That's the best thing I've heard of Jack Belmont for sometime. Here, come along, both of you."

  He motioned to the girls to enter the passage, and turned to theofficer. "Don't let anybody leave the room till I come back," he said;and the reporter, who had started eagerly forward, fell back with ascowl. "There's no 'story' in this, young man," said the sergeant,severely; "and you'll oblige _me_," with significant emphasis, "bymaking no reference to it."

  "I think you're just splendid!" exclaimed Helena, as they went down thepassage.

  "Oh, well, we all like your father. Although it would be a great joke onhim,--Scott, but it would! However, it wouldn't be any joke on you a fewyears from now, so I'm going to send you home with a little goodadvice,--don't do it again."

  "But it's such fun to run to fires!" replied Helena, who now fearednothing under heaven. "We _did_ have a time!"

  "Well, if you're set on running to fires, go in your own good clothes,with money enough in your pocket to grease the palm of people like ourfriend Tim. Here we are."

  He called a hack and handed the girls in.

  "Please tell him to stop a few doors from the house," said Helena;"and," with her most engaging smile, "I'm afraid I'll have to ask you topay him. If you'll give me your address, I'll send you the amount firstthing to-morrow."

  "Oh, don't mention it. Just ask your father to vote for Tom Shannon whenhe runs for sheriff. It's no use asking anything of old Yorba," headded, with some viciousness. "And I'd advise you, young lady, to keepthis night's lark pretty dark."

  The remark was addressed to Magdalena, but she only lifted her headhaughtily and turned it away. Helena replied hastily,--

  "My father shall vote for you and make all his friends vote, too. Iwon't tell him about this until next Wednesday, the day before I leavefor New York; then he'll be feeling so badly he won't say a word, andhe'll be so grateful to you that he'll do anything. Good-night."

  "Good-night, miss, and I guess you'll get along in this world."

  As the carriage drove off, Helena threw her arms about Magdalena, whowas sitting stiffly in the corner. "Oh, darling, dearest!" sheexclaimed. "_What_ have I made you go through? And you're so generous,you'll never tell me what a villain I am. But you will forgive me, won'tyou?"

  "I am just as much to blame as you are. I was not obliged to go."

  "But it was dreadful, wasn't it? That horrid low policeman! The idea ofhis daring to put his hand on my shoulder. But we'll just forget it, andnext week, to-morrow, it will be as if it never had happened."

  Magdalena made no reply.

  "'Lena!" exclaimed Helena, sharply. "You're never going to own up?"

  "I must," said Magdalena, firmly. "I've done a wicked thing. I'vedisobeyed my father, who thinks it's horrible for girls to be on thestreet even in the daytime alone, and I've nearly disgraced him. I've noright not to tell him. I must!"

  "That's your crazy old New England conscience! If you were all Spanish,you'd look as innocent as a madonna for a week, and if you were my kindof Californian you'd cheek it and make your elders feel that they wereimpertinent for taking you to task."

  "You are half New England."

  "So I am, but I'm half Southerner, too, and all Californian. I'm justbeautifully mixed. You're not mixed at all; you're just hooked together.Come now, say you won't tell him. He's a terror when he gets angry."

  "I must tell him. I'd never respect myself again if I didn't. I've donelots of other things and didn't tell, but they didn't matter,--that is,not so much. He's got a _right_ to know."

  "It's a pity you're not more like him, then you wouldn't tell."

  "What do you mean, Helena? I am sure my father never told a lie."

  Helena was too generous to tell what she knew. She asked instead, "Iwonder would your conscience hurt you so hard if everything had turnedout all right, and we were coming home in our own hack?"

  Magdalena thought a moment. "It might not to-night, but it wouldto-morrow. I am sure of that," she said.

  Helena groaned. "You are hopeless. Thank Heaven, I was born without aconscience,--that kind, anyhow. I intend to be a law all to myself. I'mCalifornian clear through into my backbone."

  The hack stopped. The girls alighted and walked slowly forward. Mr.Belmont's house was the first of the three.

  "Well," said Helena, "here we are. I'm going to climb up the pillar andwalk along the ledge. How are you going in?"

  "Through the front door."

  "Well, if you will, you will, I suppose. Kiss me good-night."

  Magdalena kissed her and walked on. A half-moment later Helena calledafter her in a loud whisper,--

  "Take off that shawl!"

  Magdalena lifted her hand to her chin, then dropped it. When she reachedher own home, she rang the bell firmly. The Chinaman who opened the doorstared at her, the dawn of an expression on his face.

  "Where is Don Roberto?" she asked.

  "In loffice, missee."

  Magdalena crossed the hall and tapped at the door of the small room herfather called his office. Don Roberto grunted, and she opened the doorand went in. He was writing, and wheeled about sharply.

  "What?" he exclaimed. "What the devil! Take that shawl off the head."

  Magdalena removed the shawl and sat down.

  "I went to a fire," she said. "I got taken up by a policeman and went tothe station. A man named Tom Shannon said he wouldn't lock me up, andsent me home. He paid for the carriage." She paused, looking at herfather with white lips.

  His face had turned livid, then purple. "_Dios!_" he gasped. "_Dios!_"And then she knew how furious her father was. When his life was in eventenor he never used his native tongue. "_Dios!_" he repeated. "Tell thatagain. You go with that little devil, Helena Belmont, I suppose. _Madrede Dios!_ Again! Again!"

  "I went to a fire--south of Market Street. A policeman arrested me for avagrant. He called me a greaser--"

  Her father sprang to his feet with a yell of rage. He caught hisriding-whip from the mantel.

  She stumbled to her feet. "Papa!" she said. "Papa! You will not dothat!"

  A few moments later she was in her own room. The stars shone full on herpretty altar. She turned her back on it and sat down on the floor. Shehad not uttered a word as her father beat her. Even now she barely feltthe welts on her back. But her self-respect had been cut through atevery blow, and it quivered and writhed within her. She hated her fatherand she hated life with an intensity which added to her misery, and shedecided that she had made her last confession to any one but the priest,who always forgave her. If she did wrong in the future and her fatherfound it out, well and good; but she would not be the one to tell him.